


Conflicting Promises

by fairytalehearts



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalehearts/pseuds/fairytalehearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bruce teases and then falls asleep. routines and conflicting promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conflicting Promises

Bruce has a routine.

First he protests that he is not tired. Vehemently. But he is not as indestructible as he thinks. He lays on the bed watching her carefully put her things away, head dropping while replaying the evening in his head. He eventually starts to pace, cranky that she has not joined him in bed, and begrudgingly trods over to the bathroom to rinse with mouthwash (there was a toothbrush argument to be had but she has let it go). Normally, he pretends to sleep until he falls into exhaustion. 

They are both exhausted from their evening activities which included a charity gala, a bank robbery where she may or may not have assisted him, and then dinner at a diner at 3AM. Initially, she was confused about him following her home, but she didn't say anything when he shrugged off his tuxedo and put it into the dry-cleaning bag in her closet. They rarely sleep together at her apartment in general but it was late and he felt bad rousing Alfred from his old man slumber. Staying at Wayne Manor meant breakfast, and a clean clothes in the morning. Staying at her place was- an indulgence on Bruce's part. She took it for what it was- a kindness.

Except for tonight, she can tell he’s awake because his hand sneaks around her middle like he wants to cuddle. Bruce rarely wants to cuddle. His hand skims the soft skin of her middle, lifting her nightgown up, his thumbs brushing over her hip while he wedged the silk fabric up so he had easier access to her panties from behind.

She’d been wound up since the gala, and the bank robbery didn’t do anything to ease the ache between her thighs, but his rough hand worming its way between her butt cheeks to her core was definitely putting the gears back into motion. Something about dancing in a dress, schmoozing with donors was oddly arousing for a woman who claimed not to care about those sorts of things, but being with Bruce was apparently an exception. Then the physicality of their relationship outside of the bedroom was an adrenaline rush that she couldn't quite understand either but those were thoughts for another time.

It would be easy, to nudge himself out of his ridiculous pajama pants and to have him inside her but he stops his wiggling hand to squeeze her left ass cheek and groan into her ear.

“Your ass is fantastic, Cat.”

She knew that but it was nice to hear.

His finger curls inside of her pressing against the too wet flesh and he groans again, shifting their bodies closer together, the odd angle of his wrist simultaneously egging him on and frustrating her.

“I promise this would go a lot easier if you weren’t wearing pants, Bruce.” Selina purred slipping out of his grip to face him. His fingers were sticky with her juices but she pressed closer to him for a kiss-

And he was asleep.

Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, his dark hair a mess. Pulling her panties down, she moved his hand to her breast and he squeezed in his sleep, mumbling about quarterly reports.

That was apparently enough for her and when her fingers reached her clit, her heart sped up just enough to take the edge off. Pressing herself closer to Bruce she maneuvered her knee between his legs and snuggled against his chest.

Maybe in the morning she’d wake him up for sex.

Maybe in the morning she’d completely ignore him.

_Conflicting Promises._

**

Selina has a routine.

First thing in the morning, she blasts music to get herself awake, dancing around the living room before finally stopping in front of the giant window that had the clock face. Something about the sun rising and dancing was enough to start the day, no coffee or tea needed.

Stretching like the cat she was, limbs were extended above her head, then below her waist. Her hair was a curly mess, and while she was dancing to Ariana Grande in the morning, her moves became more focused into a routine that looked like it was part ballet, part tai chi. Her hair whipping around, her night gown fanning out, she would smile with her eyes closed, beckoning him to join her.

Bruce was too enthralled with the way her body moved with the sun rising behind to join her. His parents had made sure he knew how to dance but he didn’t think he possessed the freedom or creativity to twirl around to pop music meant for teenage girls, especially when he was barely awake. Being tired made him cranky and apparently he was tired more often than he'd like to admit if Dick had anything to say about it.

She eventually slides across the floor back toward the bed and if he didn’t want to have his way with her before, he definitely did now.

She leans forward, one knee on the mattress, her nightgown hanging crooked off one shoulder and he indulges her, their lips meeting with conflicting promises. She is ready for the day to begin, breakfast at _Om Let_ downtown.  He wants to wrap the two of them inside her comforter and never leave. He did not indulge in his baser instincts as much as he’d like and today seemed like a good day to start.

She nibbles on his bottom lip, her teeth grazing his lips, her eyelashes fluttering open to look at him when he doesn’t kiss her back. There were other things he’d like to be doing with his mouth.

“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to suggest playing hooky?” Selina asked rubbing the side of his face with her cheek.

She had a new artist coming into the gallery and they’d both been up late at their second jobs. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels nostalgic or melancholy or why his first instinct is to tell her to come back to bed.

“I’m cold.” He says instead, lifting the comforter up for her to join him.

Selina laughs, her whole face turning red, her nose wrinkling, gasping for air, “Funny, Kid.”

The nickname he'd never gotten rid of fits his souring mood. She rocks back onto the ground and bends over in front of her dresser to pick out her underwear for the day. Keeping her ass in the air, she held some up with her right hand, the perfect morning distraction. Black was a reoccurring theme that morning, in various degrees of "modesty" for Cat. He shakes his head until she gets to the Batman panties she’d gotten on a whim.

The yellow lace should look frivolous but they fit her ass perfectly and with that she picks out a dress and jewelry before stepping into the shower. She comes back out exactly twenty minutes later and he hasn’t moved from the bed, hasn’t even gone to start the coffee maker and she sits down to apply her lotions and hand creams, her three cats obediently sitting behind her waiting to be fed.

They know better than to ask him.

She looks up at him after she applies her eyeliner, the three reflections of her face staring at him expectantly, “You’re going to be late for work.”

Making a show out of pulling on a t-shirt and jeans from her closet, he grabs his sunglasses from her vanity and shrugs, “I have nothing planned all day. Except apparently not having sex on my birthday.”

Selina draws the lipstick right off her lips and onto her cheek.

He can tell she’s thinking about his last birthday, the one where she, jobless, spent the day in bed with him. He, being Bruce Wayne, helped her get in contact with a realtor for her art gallery, before the elaborate birthday party in Star City. She is also thinking about how rare it was that he spent the night at her place and how much he disliked Om Let for their gaggle of paparazzi outside the main window (where they would inevitably be seated).

Selina rarely falters so obviously, but she dabs the lipstick off her cheek and looks over her shoulder.

“You little shit, your birthday is next week.”

“Had to try.” Bruce chuckled the sound was strange even for him. “Breakfast?”

The designer heel flying at his head barely misses his face.

_He calls Alfred for a ride anyway._

**

 

 

 


End file.
